D for Dead, page 6
Eventually the spraying stopped. Again there was a pause, then another click. This time there was no mistaking the sound of the blade opening.
She started screaming again, now hysterically, waiting for the slice of the knife. How was he going to do it? Was he going to stab her in the back or pull her head back and slice open her throat?
Unexpectedly he went for her wrists, cutting through the binds holding them together. Her arms fell limply by her sides as the weight on her back shifted. She heard footsteps. Were they fading? Was he leaving? For a long moment she lay on the barn floor, barely daring to breathe, let alone move.
Was he gone?
Eventually she pushed herself up onto her elbows. Her arms were hurting from how they had been forced behind her back. She glanced around. The door of the barn was still open and the man nowhere in sight.
Was it a trick, a test to see if she ran?
Tentatively she climbed to her feet, wrapping her arms around her body to check she was still in one piece. Aside from the pain in her banging head and bloody mouth, she was okay. Struggling to stop her heels sinking into the soil, she cautiously made her way towards the door on shaking legs.
From the dusky light outside, Shannon guessed it was about nine, nine thirty. There was maybe another ten minutes of light before darkness took hold; time for her to establish where she was and get the hell out of here.
Her heart sunk as she exited the barn and realised exactly where she was: the middle of nowhere. The only other buildings she could see were two further barns, both large in size. They appeared to be used for storage as she could see no grazing animals nearby. All three were surrounded by open fields, a dirt trail running from the barns past the fields and into woodland in the distance.
Why had he brought her here and then left?
Remembering the aerosol, Shannon glanced down at her blouse. Crude red paint had ruined it. Two red circles, one inside the other.
What was it supposed to mean?
Knowing she was going to struggle in her heels, she removed them. The dirt trail was probably stony, but she would walk better barefoot. Besides, the stiletto heels of her shoes were sharp and the only potential weapon she had should her attacker return.
She was midway along the trail and nearing the end of the first field when the gunshot came. Startled, she dropped her shoes, as the unexpected crack came from nowhere. As she scooped to pick them up, a second bullet whizzed past her head.
Her attacker.
Forgetting about the shoes, Shannon broke into a sprint heading for the woodland that still seemed so far away.
Have to get away. Have to make it to the safety of the woods.
A third and fourth bullet, both close, but not hitting.
Was he missing deliberately?
As she ran, panting heavily, sudden realisation of the significance of the paint dawned.
It was a target. He had been marking her up.
He was never planning to let her go. She was supposed to run; it was part of the game. And the object of the game was for him to kill her.
8
Amy was a couple of blocks from the bar when she realised she was being followed.
After saying goodnight to Gage and Tom and stepping outside the Velvet Lounge, she had an uncomfortable feeling she was being watched, but put it down to paranoia. The vandalism of her car, followed by the visit from the cops, had rattled her, and the return of her nightmare hadn’t helped. She hadn’t slept properly in three nights and exhaustion was starting to play tricks on her mind.
The bar was only twelve blocks from her apartment and, apart from when the weather was bad, she tended to walk. The streets were well lit and even at one thirty in the morning there were usually a few cars about.
Given recent developments, Gage had offered to escort her home, but he had to lock up and Amy, who really needed her bed, didn’t fancy staying later than necessary. Besides, it wasn’t fair to make him walk all the way to her place only to then have to backtrack to his own home. Half an hour and she would be back in her apartment and ready to attempt sleep.
The evening was warm and humid; the air heavy with warnings of a storm. She had her umbrella, but didn’t think the rain clouds would break before she reached the safety of home. The Velvet Lounge was on the edge of the city centre and the surrounding area was still lively with people milling around, which was probably why she hadn’t heard the footsteps immediately.
As the streets became less busy, the pedestrians mostly left behind and even the traffic on the road unusually quiet, every sound around her magnified. Normally she took no notice, preoccupied only with getting home, but tonight she was aware of every noise: the clack of her feet hitting the pavement, the distant slam of a door, the screech of a cat, someone’s car alarm going off. And then, less than five minutes into her journey, the low thump of another set of footsteps behind her.
The second she heard them, Amy stopped and looked around. The street was empty. A little perturbed, but putting it down to her vivid imagination, she continued walking, mind already thinking ahead, plotting out a quick pee break for Huckleberry followed by a shower and bed.
The footsteps started again.
She told herself it was nothing, probably another pedestrian making their way home, but still she felt uneasy. Again she glanced over her shoulder. About half a block back she could make out a shadowy figure standing motionless watching her. Although she couldn’t make out the features, the build suggested it was a man.
Why had he stopped?
Amy weighed up her options. She could return to the Velvet Lounge, but in doing so she would have to pass the figure.
He was probably harmless and there was likely an innocent explanation for why he was out roaming the streets and had stopped at exactly the same time she did, but she didn’t want to chance it. Option two was to carry on towards her apartment. This was the sensible plan, but the roads were becoming quieter and less built up. If she found herself in trouble she would be screwed.
Weighing up her options and not fancying either of them, she continued on shaky legs, repeatedly glancing over her shoulder to see if the man followed.
He did.
Reaching in her jeans pocket, Amy grabbed her door key, holding it as a weapon in her closed fist. She glanced around again. He was closer.
Heart jumping into her mouth she broke into a jog. Behind her came the footsteps – louder, pounding the concrete.
He was running after her.
Biting down on the panic that was clawing its way up her throat, Amy sped up. Pizza Paradise was up ahead. It was only a small takeaway business and usually dead at night, but it was a safe haven between here and her apartment. Reaching the door, she yanked it open and almost fell inside.
The young assistant behind the counter looked up from the magazine he was reading and eyed her with concern.
‘I’m being followed,’ Amy told him, glancing out of the window, trying to catch her breath.
The man who had been pursuing her had disappeared. Either that or he was hiding somewhere, waiting for her to emerge.
She turned back to the counter assistant, who was avoiding eye contact, clearly uncomfortable with conversing with the crazy lady who had burst into his shop. Amy drew in a shaky breath, unsure what to do. Although she couldn’t see the man, she wasn’t brave enough to go back outside, especially when her apartment was ten blocks away. She could call Gage, but he would still be locking up and didn’t have a car, so would have to walk down to the takeaway. That would take time.
Another option came to mind. Pulling the card from her purse, she dialled the number on her cell phone. After six rings, her call was answered.
‘Sullivan.’
He sounded tired and Amy guessed she had woken him. The detective might be a jerk, but he had told her to call if anything happened, so she swallowed her pride.
‘It’s Amy Gallaty. I’m sorry to be calling you so late, but there’s a man following me.’
He was immediately alert. ‘Where are you?’
‘Pizza Paradise, the takeaway place on Main Street.’
‘I know where it is. And the guy following you, where’s he?’
Amy glanced out of the window again. ‘I can’t see him. He disappeared after I came in here.’
‘Okay, stay in the pizza place. Don’t go outside. I’m on my way.’
Before Amy could say anything else, he had hung up. She glanced over at the counter assistant who was eyeing her suspiciously and gave him an apologetic smile.
‘I’ll be gone in a bit.’
He didn’t respond, instead buried his head back in his magazine. Amy wrung her hands together and paced the small room back and forth, feeling uncomfortable. While she waited she perused the wall menu, going through the different combinations of pizza available, thinking the prices were a little inflated for the quality of pizza sold. She’d had takeaway from here once or twice, but it wouldn’t be her first choice. Every now and again she glanced out of the shop front window, but could see no sign of the man.
She didn’t have to wait long. Sullivan showed within ten minutes of her call, pulling to a halt outside the pizza takeaway. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt, probably thrown on in a rush, and a grim expression on his face.
‘Any sign of him?’ he asked Amy, by way of greeting.
She shook her head. ‘Not since I came in here.’
He glanced briefly at the counter assistant, who was trying hard to look like he was concentrating on his magazine and not what they were saying.
‘Okay, stay here.’
Sullivan disappeared outside the shop. He was gone for five long minutes, and when he returned Amy noticed the butt of a revolver poking out of the top of his jeans.
‘Whoever he was, he’s gone.’
‘Okay.’
‘Do you think it was someone who’d been in the bar?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
‘You get a good look at him?’
‘Not really. It was dark and he wasn’t close enough to see properly.’
‘But you’re sure he was following you?’
‘Yes.’ She was beginning to think calling Sullivan was a bad idea. ‘I heard someone behind me. When I stopped, he stopped too. When I started running, he started running.’
Sullivan nodded, not looking overly convinced. He pulled out his badge and flashed it under the counter assistant’s nose. ‘The lady says she was being followed when she came in here. Did you see anything?’
‘No! No! Nothing at all.’
Not that he would probably say if he had, Amy thought, but decided to keep it to herself. The counter assistant wasn’t going to be any help.
Sullivan fired a few more questions at him before evidently coming to the same conclusion. He glanced at Amy; his expression unreadable. ‘Come on. I’ll take you home.’
With another quick apologetic glance at the counter assistant, Amy followed him out to the Audi.
‘So, do you walk home from work after every shift?’ he asked as she climbed in the passenger seat and closed the door.
‘It’s only twelve blocks. I’ve never had a problem before.’
‘That wasn’t what I asked.’ He paused, hand on ignition, and looked at her, dark eyes questioning. ‘Do you walk home after every shift?’ he repeated.
Amy sighed, irritated at the pointless question. ‘Yes… mostly. I don’t see what relevance it has. I’ve never been followed before.’
‘Not that you know about. Look, I’m trying to establish a pattern. If he was following you, he probably knows your routine.’
‘If he was following me? You think I’m making it up? Being paranoid?’
‘I never said you were making it up.’
‘I know when I’m being followed.’
Annoyed he had doubted her, Amy crossed her arms and looked out of the passenger window.
She could feel his stare on her for a moment, maybe still questioning if she was telling the truth, perhaps frustrated that she was now sulking like a child, which she was, and yes, it was a little pathetic given the circumstances, but she couldn’t help herself. Sullivan had a knack of rubbing her up the wrong way.
Eventually she heard him give an exasperated sigh. He turned on the ignition and pulled away from the curb. They drove back to her apartment in silence. He was probably pissed at her for waking him up in the middle of the night; for making him leave his bed, probably his girlfriend, wife…
As subtly as possible she shifted her head, snuck a glance at his hand. No band on his ring finger. Regardless of whom he had left at home and whether he believed her, he had still turned out for her in the middle of the night. Amy felt a little guilty. As he pulled the car to a halt outside her apartment block, she gave him a quick smile.
‘Well, thanks for the lift and sorry for dragging you out for nothing.’
To her surprise, he killed the ignition.
‘I’ll come up with you. If you were being followed, the guy might know where you live.’
Amy hadn’t thought of it that way. What if she had been followed home before, but hadn’t realised? What if the creep was waiting for her? The apartment block had a security buzzer, but the tenants were forever letting people in. She couldn’t remember the last time a visitor had buzzed her to open the main door.
‘Uh, okay,’ she agreed, a little too freaked out to point out he had again questioned whether she had been followed.
He’s making the effort to come upstairs. He wouldn’t do that if he didn’t believe you.
Sullivan followed her into the building and over to the elevators. While they waited, Amy was aware of his eyes sweeping the lobby. It was an old building that had been renovated; for the first time she realised there were plenty of places someone could hide. How often had she returned from her bar shift and stood here waiting alone? She had written six serial killer thrillers, yet never before noticed how many vulnerable situations she placed herself in.
You should know the rules better than anyone.
The elevator arrived and Amy stepped inside, Sullivan following. As she pressed the button for the fifth floor, she was acutely aware of his presence close behind her and the subtle spicy scent of his cologne. It was large enough to hold six people, but the space felt much smaller; almost suffocating. Being around Sullivan made her a little uncomfortable. She drew in a deep breath.
Stop freaking out, Amy. You’re being paranoid because of what happened tonight.
She stole a glance at his profile. Straight nose, stubbled jaw, dark hair a shade too long and mussed, probably from where he’d been sleeping before she had woken him. Her attention focused on his mouth. And it hit her.
You’re attracted to him.
The sudden realisation horrified her. This was Detective Jake Sullivan who had accused her of being involved in two murders. Though who, to be fair, had turned out tonight because she was being followed.
Stop making excuses. You are not attracted to him. It’s one of those hero crush things. He helped you out of a bad situation and now you’re being an idiot. It’s nothing. He was doing his job.
She must have been looking at him a little goofily because he was watching her, narrowing his eyes. ‘What?’
‘What?’ Amy questioned back, defensively.
‘You were staring at me.’
Heat coloured her cheeks. ‘I was not.’
To her relief the elevator pinged and the door opened, allowing her to escape from the uncomfortable situation and Sullivan’s probing questions. The sound of muffled barking came from Amy’s apartment.
Christ, Huckleberry. You’re gonna get me evicted if you keep this up.
Sullivan followed her down the hallway as she fished for her keys in her purse.
‘Are you planning on taking him out?’
Until this point, Amy had forgotten all about Huckleberry. She still hadn’t gotten used to having a dog living with her. Sullivan wasn’t going to be happy about her going out alone and, truth be told, Amy didn’t much fancy it after the evening’s events, but Huckleberry needed to pee.
‘Umm…’
Sullivan shook his head, looking irritated that she wasn’t heeding any of his advice about safety. ‘Get me his leash. I’ll do a quick check of your apartment, then take him round the block for you.’
‘It’s okay. You don’t have to. You’ve already done…’ Amy tapered off mid-sentence, as he fixed her with a pointed look.
Damn, he’s bossy.
‘Okay, I’ll get the leash,’ she conceded, opening the door to the apartment.
Huckleberry was delighted to see Sullivan, ignoring Amy as he showered the detective with licks.
You forget who feeds you, buddy.
Niggled by the dog’s lack of loyalty, Amy waited patiently as Sullivan did a quick check of her apartment, Huckleberry in hot pursuit. As they returned from her bedroom, she reached for the leash, throwing it to Sullivan as Huckleberry went nuts.
‘We’ll be back in fifteen minutes,’ Sullivan told her, clipping on the leash. ‘Make sure you keep the door locked.’
Amy watched them go, saluting Sullivan behind his back.
Keep the door locked. Does he think I’m stupid?
After clicking the latch into place, she went into the kitchen and put on the coffee pot; it was late, but her mind was buzzing. Coffee and wine relaxed her, and she wasn’t in the mood for the latter. While the machine whirred, she kicked off her shoes, opened the patio doors and stepped out on to the balcony. The evening was still warm and humid. Leaning on the railing, she watched as Sullivan and Huckleberry crossed the road and disappeared into the park.
Amy wasn’t sure what it was about the man that was getting under her skin. Normally she was laid-back and it took a lot to get a rise out of her. Sullivan seemed to manage it with little effort.
Perhaps it’s because he never believes you.
Or maybe it was something else.
Pondering the question, Amy’s glance wandered a little further up the street to the figure standing at the edge of the trees, watching her apartment. With a start she stepped back from the balcony railing, her skin going cold.
